No, it’s not what you might be thinking. But first, let me tell you what just happened.
I was outside with my dad, just hanging out. I looked around and there was a stink bug on a box on our porch. My dad said, “Flick it!” and without hesitation, I did so, happily. I flicked his hard, stinky ass across the porch, where he bounced off of the house and hit the ground with a knock.
In that moment, I realized, I enjoyed it. I was paying him back for all of the stink bugs that have been coming into my house for the last couple of years. A never ending onslaught of nasty ass stink bugs.
And then I thought, well what if this particular stink bug that I flicked had never been into my house, and what if he was never going to come into my house? I just assaulted him for the crimes of others. I hate an entire species for the actions of a few of that species. I am racist against that species.
I am entomoist, or racist against insects.
It’s true, I hate them all. And I feel disgusted by myself. I never thought I’d be so ignorant as to be a racist, but I can’t help it, it was how I was raised.
My wife even concocted a death device for the stink bugs that travel into our house, and we stay vigilant in killing them. All season long.
She took a 20 ounce pop bottle, cut the top dome off, flipped it upside down and stuck it inside the bottom half. Then she taped them together with duct tape at the cut. Inside the bottle she put water and a little bit of dish liquid, because that kills stink bugs. When we see one, we scoop it up in that bottle and it slides down the neck and into the death solution where it basically suffocates to death. And we love every minute of it.
So please, don’t judge me. I’m trying to be better. I just can’t be. Not when it comes to stink bugs.